


Spinning Above the Fire

by kayliemalinza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Jo Harvelle POV, Mild S&M, Multi, Pegging, Polyamory, Spitroast, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's weird trying to wrap your head (and legs) around sleeping with an angel. Jo just wants a nice afternoon pegging her boyfriend, but then the jerk accidentally summons their Boyfriend-of-the-Lord. #Supernatural Poly Problems</p><p>Teaser: Dean's shoulder blades glide beneath the skin as he slumps, pretty like a knife coming out the sheath, and Jo prods at the dimples on either side of his tailbone just for something to do. "Say, Cas," she asks casually, since he's already here, and Dean obviously needs something to focus on or else he's gonna twist himself up in knots and she'll never get to screw him right. "You ever heard of a spit-roast?"</p><p>"NO," Dean bellows, and crams his face into the mattress again. He's gonna get marks from the wrinkles in the sheets. Again. Jo has a collection of cell-phone pics, snapped in the afterglow.</p><p>"I didn't ask you, princess," she says. The back of his neck and the shells of his ears are bright red. What a cutie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spinning Above the Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mondegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondegreen/gifts).



The harness is going to leave weird lines on her hips and the lube got _everywhere_. Jo's a trooper, though. She's not going to let a few little inconveniences stop her from working her plastic cock into Dean's ass.

Dean's a fucking wuss, though.

"Quit complaining," Jo snaps for about the fifth time.

"Come on," Dean whines, and tries to push himself up from the mattress. "Can't we switch positions or something?"

"No," says Jo. "We already tried that." Dean likes being on his back, but she can't get good leverage that way and he says it hurts more, that she wasn't hitting anywhere close to the sweet spot. Besides, he gets handsy. He can't stop himself from tugging her breasts and belly button, scraping his fingernails down her sides, thumbing the slick hair at her crotch. It's like he thinks he isn't doing enough for her just by lying there, flashing his teeth.

Besides, when he's on his back, it's way too obvious when he hides his face. Hard to ignore it and continue blithely along without Addressing the Issue, because neither of them want to do that.

"But—" Dean starts, then suddenly there's a breeze that knocks the motel channel guide off the night stand and, because of some trick of air pressure, pulls the bathroom door shut.

"Cas, what are you doing here?" says Jo. Her rhythm's completely shot now so she just stops, dildo halfway in.

Dean groans and shoves his face so hard into the mattress that Jo's gonna have to pull him up for air in a minute.

"Dean called me," says Cas, standing beside the bed. "He seemed to be in distress." Cas observes the configuration of their bodies, takes special note of Jo's tight nipples and the cut of her hipbones. Jo's pretty sure he's crushing on her.

"You little bitch! You _tattled_ on me?" she cries, and wallops Dean hard enough to make her palm hurt.

It's pretty tasty how he yelps at that. Dean nearly yanks himself off the dildo, but Jo grabs his hips and follows him down. Maybe she leaves a little too much to gravity, slides back in too deep and fast, because Dean's garbled moan is a shade on the wrong side of pain. She gives him one slow thrust, out and back in, to remind him how nice it can be.

Castiel furrows his brow, probably wondering if he should intervene. And then—Jo will swear on her daddy's grave that this happened—he tilts his head to check if Dean has an erection.

(Big "yes" on that one.)

"I didn't mean to," Dean mumbles.

Jo rubs at the pretty red mark on Dean's ass to take the sting out. She's way too nice. Would it kill him to show some gratitude?

Dean sighs and shifts his head a little to the side. Good. Jo was worried about his air flow. "I'm not gonna say sorry, though," he says, his other hand fumbling a couple of inches toward Cas, his fingers all trim and pretty and curled up. "Join the party, Cas."

"Aw, isn't he precious?" Jo says.

"Yes," says Cas, way too literally, and there's dead silence for a while. Gosh, he's a sweetheart. Dean and Jo would probably bounce off each other one too many times and never talk again without Cas here to say all the sappy stuff. Not that Jo and Dean don't get gushy, because they do—Jo wants to get a head scan when she thinks about the stuff she's told him—but there's a difference between tossing out one-liners about daddy issues and Castiel's solemn pronouncements of undying devotion or what-the-fuck-ever. He called her "beloved" the other day. Jo had no choice but to shove her tit in his mouth.

Life is hard.

Dean's shoulder blades glide beneath the skin as he slumps, pretty like a knife coming out the sheath, and Jo prods at the dimples on either side of his tailbone just for something to do. "Say, Cas," she asks casually, since he's already here, and Dean obviously needs something to focus on or else he's gonna twist himself up in knots and she'll never get to fuck him right. "You ever heard of a spit-roast?"

" _NO_ ," Dean bellows, and crams his face into the mattress again. He's gonna get marks from the wrinkles in the sheets. Again. Jo has a collection of cell-phone pics, snapped in the afterglow.

"I didn't ask you, princess," she says. The back of his neck and the shells of his ears are bright red. What a cutie. "Get naked, Cas," she says. "Dean's gonna suck your cock while I fuck him. It'll be fun," she adds unnecessarily.

"That does sound amenable," says Cas as he reaches up for the lapels of his coat.

Dean mumbles some other empty protest, just for plausible deniability, but he props himself up on one elbow. Jo settles back on her heels a little. This part is fun to watch.

Cas hasn't figured out the art of the strip-tease, not yet, but he knows that just magicking away his clothes freaks Dean out. Jo doesn't mind the show tricks herself, but it is more fun to watch Castiel undress. He does it with tempered impatience, like a priest slogging through communion when he has to piss, and his clothes always end up in a heap. Angels don't worry about wrinkles.

Cas drops the last sock and stands there a moment, looking to Jo for instruction.

"Kneel on the bed, in front of Dean," says Jo. Dean wriggles back gingerly to make room and she scoots, too. It didn't occur to either of them to slide the dildo out while Castiel got naked. Oops?

They jostle against each other, knees knocking, because the only drawback to this position is that Dean's thighs are way longer than hers. He has to spread wide to get low enough; the muscles in his thighs stretch in lean, shadowed swoops and his ass pops up all round and pretty.

Okay, so it's not really a drawback.

Jo glances from the furrow of Dean's spine to Cas' flat belly and tries not to be smug when she smiles. She has the best view in the room.

Cas gives her his subtle smile in return and lowers himself into place. The bedsprings squeak one-two like he has bowling balls behind his kneecaps. Angels are dense. They tried to weigh Cas once, and realized he was making the dial spin just to fuck with their heads. (Dean was so proud of their sweet baby angel blooming into a smartass.)

"Right there. That's good, babe," says Dean, and settles his forearms on either side of Castiel's thighs. He lets Cas guide his cock into Dean's mouth because Cas likes that; he likes to curl his fingers into the groove where spine meets skull and trace his thumb over the baroque whorls of an ear.

Dean keeps distant, just mouthing the tip, so he has room to slide down the shaft when Jo starts up again.

The angles are all different when you're the fucker, muscle memory she doesn't have yet, and now Jo understands the practicality underpinning all those jokes about stamina. If she didn't spend so much time running from ghosts and crouching over graves, her haunches would be aching. Jo isn't going to let her boys down, though. She holds Dean's hips still and digs her knees in beside his on the mattress, calf aligned to calf, his feet hooking over hers. She starts off easy as she can, but it's difficult to hold back when each longer slide draws a sweeter moan from him, when Cas' belly concaves in a spasm, when Dean pushes back into her like all he wants is _more_.

So she gets a little too rambunctious, and knocks Dean forward, and he splutters and hacks. Jo knows it's not actually hot in practice—way too uncomfortable—but she's gonna treasure the memory forever: Dean Winchester choking on cock.

Castiel, alarmed, pulls Dean off by the hair (and Jesus, Jo's gonna remember that sight, too; she's gonna sketch it in her diary and surround it with hearts and sticker stars.) He strokes two fingers against the side of Dean's throat. It could be sweet, but given the look of concentration his face, there's no chance of mistaking it for a PDA. Castiel's working some mojo.

"Sorry, sorry," Jo says, rubbing Dean's back in broad circles while he coughs. "Let's, uh—Cas, how about you lie down," she says, She waits for Cas to finish his ministering and tugs him until he's lying on his back alongside them, head toward Jo and feet toward Dean.

"That'll work," says Dean. He hooks an arm over Cas' waist and lays across him, mouth and cock back where they belong. Jo can see the stretch of his lips, the hollow of his cheek as he inhales. It's kinda unfair, actually, because Jo really, _really_ wanted him to suck the strap-on before they got started, but Dean said she wouldn't feel anything and she just wanted to make him look stupid. That's not true—Jo probably would've called him a slutty little bitch, which is totally not the same as _stupid_ —but it was took a goddamn aligning of the planets to get Dean to agree to pegging to begin with, so she's not gonna risk him getting pissed and storming out.

She'll be content with what she's got. It's a good circle; Dean gets to knead his fingers into Cas' hips and Cas can run his hands over Jo's back and ass and thighs, and stare at her with those big blues that she heard Dean talk about long before they started this.

Jo looks at the shift of collarbone and the minnowing of ribs beneath soft, pale skin (so unlike a hunter, so unlike the soldier she knows he is) and feels guilty for the schmuck he's wearing. Dean says that guy is "gone," whatever that means. All the metaphysical questions still go through Dean, and he's not one for big discussion, and hadn't thought to ask until Jo brought it up.

They try to be nice, anyway. They treat that body sweet and gentle, like a floor model (well, Dean does. Jo tries.) They talk about how pretty it is, how someone must've taken good care of it before Cas came along.

Cas squeezes the back of her thigh, a polite hint, so Jo gets a grip on Dean's waist and gets moving again. Dean does better; the cock glides easier down his throat with Cas lying down. Jo can really slam into him if she wants to. (She wants to.)

Cas reaches up, long fingers sneaking behind the front plate of the harness.

It's premature, and she almost wants to pull his hand away, but her orgasm is building softly enough that she can probably come again later, and she doesn't want to tell Cas "no." She keeps her pace as steady as she can, so Cas can move along with her and not get his fingers pinched or scratch her clit.

Her skin flushes, arrowing down from her chest, and she gets those weird sparks along her jaw and that orgasm-taste in the back of her mouth. She stops paying attention for a little bit, bites her lip, rides it out the way she learned to back when it was just her fingers and a Teen Beat magazine.

When she looks up again, Dean is twisted, looking back at her while Cas' cock prods him in the chin.

Jo guesses she was making some noise.

"Who said you could stop?" she says, and Dean sucks their angel down again. "Good boy," she murmurs, and smirks at the strangled sound Dean makes. He's really transparent sometimes. Jo smiles and bends down to kiss his back because she's a nice guy, not because she's feeling wobbly. "You ready for this?" she slurs into his skin, husky and low. Maybe she sounds a little stupid, but Dean isn't in a real judgy mood right now. She's not gonna sweat it. "Want me to hit this right over home plate, baby?"

Dean gargles around their angel's cock and it sounds close enough to "yes."

Jo nudges Cas' hand away and adjusts the strap-on so it doesn't smush against her clit so much. She braces her knees in the mattress, grabs Dean's hipbones like handles, and gives it to him. The burn starts up in the back of her thighs, and her belly goes tired and achey, and her elbow throbs where she cracked it against a door jam a month ago. None of that matters. Jo knows how to push her body and Dean's gone loud and jelly-boned, just how she likes him.

Castiel moves his hand out of sight beneath Dean's hips. He has guns beneath that tax-accountant skin, petite and lady-like, hypnotic. Veins rise like Incan highways from the skin while he jacks Dean off.

Dean shoves himself forward, cramming his face and forearms into the mattress. Maybe they should get him a snorkel or something. Jo doesn't know if he likes the foggy high of oxygen deprivation or if he's just shy.

Dean grunts, muffled and staccato, and goes rigid from the waist up. His pelvis rocks in little circles between Cas' hand and Jo's cock. It's not the way he usually comes, smooth and easy and practiced. This experience is new and scary and maybe he's feeling vulnerable.

 _Poor baby_ , thinks Jo without a speck of sympathy.

After a moment (a long moment, a gorgeous moment) Cas pulls his hand away, semen striped across his knuckles.

Jo slips out, too, rubbing the small of Dean's back when he whines. The mattress jostles when she clambers off, and Dean collapses like he was flung there. The insides of his thighs are greased with lube and sweat, so Jo grabs a hand-towel from the sink and tosses it onto his back. She clanks quietly at the buckles on the harness. Dean swipes himself with the towel half-heartedly.

Jo watches and wonders what Dean needs, if he needs much. He wants to not need anything, but Dean's bad at wanting what's good for him.

Cas is there, at least, giving Dean a belly to rest his head on and a body to press his legs against when he slowly unbends. His kneecaps are bright red with purple streaks from the wrinkles in the sheets. Jo hopes the marks will stick around so she can add to her photo collection.

She tosses the dildo into the sink and the harness onto the counter next to it, right on top of Dean's thigh holster (and there will be a joke made about that later; don't worry,) then heads back to the bed and the crumpled up sheets and the beautiful creatures lying on top of them.

When she gets within range, Dean hauls her down. Jo makes an aggravated noise, just for show, but she's not going claim that's not nice, that the curl of his fingers around her entire arm doesn't hook into some delicious psychosexual crap. Her elbows tuck safely on either side of his chest and Dean draws his leg up, lays his thigh across hers like a hug.

Jo lays her head on his chest for a minute.

"You okay?" she asks.

"I'm awesome," says Dean, and curls his palms daddy-soft against her neck.

Jo gives him a closed-mouth kiss, noses touching. "Let me turn around," she says, rearing slowly up out of his embrace. She rolls off him to play the little spoon, then cocks an eyebrow at Cas. He's been watching them, head tilted, fingers laced across his belly like a professor. But the fun kind; you know, that Dean downloads twenty-minute movies about.

"You coming over, or what?" Jo asks, and pats her belly like he's a cat who needs an invitation to jump up on the couch.

Castiel cocks his head at them. He's planning. Cas still misses 95% of their pop culture references, but human bodies haven't changed in a few millennia. He never fumbles or goes for the wrong hole. Tonight, when he finally crawls over to them, he takes a minute to adjust her leg, Dean's arms. He lifts her up by the waist (like she's a doll, like she's made of paper) and settles her back against Dean, two inches to the left of where she was before. He even reaches behind her head to pull her hair over her shoulder so it doesn't get stuck beneath her back or tangle all over Dean's face.

He pauses again, examining them, like calculating the stability of a jerry-rigged trebuchet. Maybe he's done that, you know? Walked medieval battlefields, turning the tide of the Crusades with a brief, steadying hand.

"C'mon," says Jo, and Dean adds his agreement, rumbly and nonverbal.

Cas nods likes he's following orders and worms his limbs in the gaps between their bodies like they're the posts of a dock or a house in the swamp, careful like always to keep his Heavenly weight from crushing their bones. Then he slides into her easy as anything, and no-one gets an elbow in the eye socket. That alone puts fucking Cas in the top 10% of Jo's sexual experiences.

Jo draws her legs up, knees almost to her armpits, to make herself tight. Cas leans forward to kiss Dean—Jo almost feels like complaining: hello, I'm _right here_ —but Dean moves his hand to cup her breast and roll her nipples between her fingers, deliberately catching them on the callouses from gun grips and steering wheels.

Jo loves watching them make out, but they're too close for a good view, and those wet smacking noises are really annoying. So she bites.

Cas' ear is the closest thing and he jerks forward when she clamps down, his movement translating through each of them like those clacking suspended balls on executive desks. Jo giggles and gets a good mouthful of neck. He's an angel. He can handle a hard bite.

Cas grunts, twitches his shoulders, lets her gnaw.

"What the hell, Jo, are you part wolf or something?" Dean asks.

"I'm just taking advantage of a partner who doesn't complain about every little thing." Jo keeps her tone light and puts a little arch in, a taste of the bitchy queen bee she might've been in another life. She holds her tongue carefully in her mouth to preserve the taste.

"I don't complain about _everything_ ," Dean mumbles. He nudges his nose up against her temple and kisses her cheek, soft and dry and lingering, because he's an asshole who can't let her win a single argument. Jo catches Cas' eye, hoping for some sympathy, but he just gives her that dopey half-smile. She scrapes her thumbnail across the bite mark.

"Are you gonna let that bruise for me, baby?" she asks.

"If that is what you want," says Cas.

"Please," says Jo. Then Cas gives her a good thrust and she says "Oh, _fuck,_ " on the breath he pushes out of her. Her reign of command over the proceedings is pretty much over; it's Cas' game now.

Castiel is slow when he fucks, but not patient. You'd think that a guy who's been around for that long—someone who's seen oceans grind mountains into sand—wouldn't worry too much about a lost hour here or there, but Castiel fucks like someone else set the pace and he's too stubborn to disobey. He thrusts like a metronome, but he's probably rutting in time to the pulse of a quasar somewhere, or an elephant's heartbeat, or the cool-ticking of earth above magma. Castiel is not human. Cas is something way beyond them, like a glass tube with lightning inside, a lonesome component of fantastical machinery.

Jo's never slept with him without Dean nearby, and she isn't sure she could. Of course, Dean isn't fully human, either. She'd swallow her own tongue before she said that to him, but come on: the man went to Hell and back. He doesn't talk about it, but he still dreams; he catches himself before he holds Jo down for too long, he won't touch her knives, and sometimes he stares, sick and hungry, at corpses.

But that's just another in a long list of things Jo doesn't worry about. She's gonna die soon, too, because that's how this life is. Those are the odds it gives you.

Maybe she'll ditch the reaper and stick around to keep her boys company.

"You okay?" Dean asks.

"Mmhmm," says Jo, and rubs her face up against his, against the scruff that turns her cheek red and sends a tingle across her jaw and down her neck. He smells like burnt coffee.

Cas studies them like he's gonna try that sometime. Jo can never pinpoint what he smells like; it's probably something weird, like fairy dust or ancient Greek wine or the stone floor of a Tibetan monastery.

"Good," says Dean, and reaches down to prod at their joining, at the seam between Cas' cock and her cunt. He touches them loosely, careful not to catch or pinch the delicate skin there. He's learned from experience; even Castiel flinched at her yelp that time. Jo has forgiven Dean, though, because apologetic cunnilingus is her favorite flavor.

Castiel keeps staring, shoulders stock-still while his lower half rolls in and in and into her.

"Come on, hot stuff, smile a little," says Jo. She presses her fingers against Cas' mouth, smushing it up at the corners. He twitches his face loose from her, but his lips keep the faint curve she gave them. "Better," she says.

She gets her breathing smooth, wriggles herself a smidgen more comfortably against Dean. She's not worried. Jo always orgasms with Cas. He's not going to putter out or lose his rhythm right when it gets good. Sometimes she thinks he's more stubborn about it than she is, tilting his head down like he's walking through a rainstorm and bull's-eyeing her G-spot until she comes, whether she likes it or not.

Dean keeps helping, one hand splay-fingered between them and the other stroking her neck, her breast, the swell of her belly. Jo gets there faster than she thought she would, and the building orgasm is so thick and lavish that she slits her eyes at Cas. He must be cheating. He's probably reaching out with some invisible angel proboscis or whatever and prodding her clitoris directly—the whole thing, the long plesiosaur part tucked up in her belly, not just the exposed head.

 Jo's gonna buy him a bouquet of roses after this.

 Dean helps her along, skirting around her clit, mindful of the oversensitive aftershocks. Honestly he's being a real fucking gentleman about it, considering how tight her fingers are twisting in his hair right now.

 When she's done (and done, and done, and melted like a slice of cheese on a burger,) Dean pulls up his dripping fingers and waves them around, wondering where to wipe them off.

 "Lick them," Jo mumbles. "Suck them clean."

 Dean blinks at her, mouth falling open. Jo loves doing that to him. "Did I stutter?" she asks, and she can tell her eyebrows are getting feisty.

 Dean flutters his eyes shut and obediently sticks his fingers in his mouth.

 Castiel is still thrusting, that same metronome pace, but Jo puts her legs down a little so it's not affecting her as much. "Is this uncomfortable?" Castiel asks. Dean has been teaching him good bed manners. Jo is so proud.

 "Nah, we're good," she says, and lets out a long, lazy breath through a smile. "You do what you need to do."

 "Yeah, come on, Cas," says Dean, and slides a hand up to grip his shoulder. It's such a stupid macho move, but then Dean circles his thumb a little in the hollow beneath Cas' collar bone and Jo kind of wants to squeeze him to death.

 Castiel lowers his head like he's getting down to business, and Jo is really glad that Dean is wrapped around her solid, because otherwise she'd be wedged up against the headboard. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as she'd expect it to, not like some of those marathon sessions she's powered through with Dean when he'd just been slow for whatever reason and asked if she was okay so often that Jo yanked him up by the ears and snarled, _This wouldn't be an issue if you'd just come already, and maybe you could do that if you stopped treating me like I'm gonna break for five freakin' minutes._

 When she tells Cas that she's fine, he takes her word for it and barrels on. Jo likes that. She thinks he might be numbing her a little bit, too. What a champ.

 So Jo hangs on for dear life, one hand gripping the sheets and the other one curled up around Dean's head or maybe his face, she's not sure. As long as she doesn't stick a finger in his eye or up his nose, it's fine. Dean ropes his arm tight around her waist and he's palming the back of Castiel's neck, not strongly enough to disrupt his movement—there's probably not a human on Earth who could do that—but hanging on for dear life too, expending huge effort just to keep a hand on Cas, just to keep him from flying away.

 Cas goes still before he comes. Not even breathing, not letting a hair jump in the breeze; absolute and inert like he's a statue or cut-and-paste from another dimension. Jo wonders if he holds off on coming just to prove he can, or if he's trying to pick it apart. Trying to parse every pulse of semen and spark up his spine.

 Jo rubs her calves along his back. _Move_ , she thinks. _You're freaking me out_.

 She unsticks her fingers from Dean's hair and rubs Cas' shoulder, warily and firm like he's a big dog. She drums her fingers on the back of his neck and strokes a hand through his hair. Jo never touches Cas' shoulder blades if she can help it. It just seems rude, touching the root of something he hides from them. (Dean probably doesn't even think about this stuff. He never acts like Cas is anything but their nerdy boyfriend, and Dean even saw the shadow of his wings once.)

 "Earth to Cas," says Dean.

 Cas shudders, uncreaks his spine and arms. Jo glances down. His cock is coated in frothy pink cum. He definitely numbed her, then. It's been a while since she's bled like that, since she learned how to read the men that won't stop, won't listen. It's been a while since she thought her pain was a sign of something to prove. (This kind of pain, anyway. She still watches cars drive away, says things her mother hates, helps Dean throw himself at monsters.)

 Cas cleans them both in an instant and presses his fingers into her under the pretense of pulling out. She goes cool and tingly from the lips all the way up, blooming deep in her belly, then further still to twinge in the scoops of her hipbones.

 Jo tries not to think about a squirt of jizz obliterating her cervix. Cas isn't _actually_ Superman.

 Cas flicks a glance at her, like he knows he isn't fooling her. He leans forward, his whole body like a lever, and notches his lips against hers. They breathe in tandem for a little while.

 "Love you guys," Dean says, softly like he wants them to pretend they didn't hear it.

 Well, bullshit on that.

 "Of course you do," Jo says, as brightly as she can considering how exhausted she suddenly is. "We're awesome."

 "We love you as well, Dean," says Cas. Jo would call him out on speaking for someone else, but there may have been a dark Thursday night with a line of tequila shots and Dean gone into town on a food run. So Jo gets honest on tequila. There are worse character flaws.

 "Yeah, you're alright," says Jo, and bumps her nose against Dean's. That's not nuzzling. Their faces are just really close, is all.

 As Cas extricates himself, Dean and Jo end up full-on spooning like that's just how gravity works. Like Cas didn't just arrange them that way with all the subtlety of a little kid smushing the faces of their favorite dolls together.

 He stands by the bed, clothed between one second and the next, his hair still sticking out. Jo can see the furrows where her fingers were.

 "There are duties I must attend to," he says.

 "You really need to work on your pillow talk," says Dean, his breath warming Jo's ear and the hollow below it.

 Cas tilts his head to the side. "Should I stay?" he asks, the way he says _Should I offer you the use of my overcoat?_ and _I have heard that small gifts of jewelry are appropriate._

 Jo waits a second for Dean to answer. When he doesn't, she says, "If you want. We know you have stuff to do, though. It's okay."

 "But you'd better come back when we call," says Dean.

 If he took that tone with Jo, she'd pop him; but Cas just nods, quick and solemn. Maybe he doesn't have the cultural background to realize Dean's being a domineering jerk. Maybe he's just used to taking orders. "Of course," he says, and billows the curtains as he leaves.

 "Don't be a stranger," says Jo, carefully too late; her own private joke.


End file.
